The Tragedy of Another Life
by xXSuzuXx
Summary: In which Haytham returned to Ziio and Connor and still her life could not be saved.


The day was clear, the air crisp in the gentle breeze. Haytham stood at the entrance of the village, where he watched, waiting for the children to return with a fond smile upon his face. His years with Ziio, short as they were, had softened him enough that he could smile with ease now without even meaning to. It was only with years of reminders that, yes, it was safe, no it did not make him weak; and even if it did, love could make anyone weak but so long as they stood together it mattered not; together they were twice as strong.

Today the children played just outside the protective walls towering over the longhouses. Outside the valley was restricted to them but they still had plenty of psace to play. More than he could ever recall having as a child. As the afternoon began to dwindle away, the children each began to return, one by one in succession, until finally all but his son had returned. Still, he waited. When the sun finally began to make its decline he began to grow worried. "My little Rascal… now where could you possibly be?"

Sighing, but knowing full well that his son had a bit of an adventurous streak, and could go adventuring for hours on end without thinking to return to the village, Haytham decided he best search for him. It would not be the first time Haytham spent hours searching for his son, only to return hours later to find that Ratonhnhaké:ton had already come back while he was searching. The boy was smart by any standards, but that did not stop Haytham from worrying. Ziio often teased that he would turn purple from worry.

Half worried and half amused with himself, Haytham set out. To think that he, the man who had once lead the Templar Order, who had killed his own mentor not long ago would be concerned for the well-being of a mere boy. It had been a letter that had brought him back, though. A letter that detailed the birth of his son, almost two years late and nearly three years ago now.

Despite all the trouble it had caused, how difficult it had been to cut off all ties as a Templar, all the deaths necessary to escape, he did not regret it. After all, he had been successful; he had disappeared. And now he had a life he had only half known he wanted. The world was bright and the past a memory; one that haunted him at times, perhaps, but a memory nonetheless. It was his family that occupied his mind now. His family.

As he looked to the sky, now streaked in pastels, he shook the thought from his mind. After much time spent searching, he finally gave up on his search, calling for his son even as he came to the top of a hill just over the village. He scanned the area one last time, searching for any tell-tale signs of Ratonhnhaké:ton having been there. But it was not his son that caught Haytham's attention, but something else entirely. "Oh no."

A great plume of smoke stretched toward the vast open sky, clouding the atmosphere and filling his nostrils with the smell of burning timber and flesh. He was running before he could think better of it, running toward the village below, set aflame. He pushed past those who were fleeing, ignoring when one tried to tug him away. But there was a deep sense of dread in his chest that told him his famil was in danger. "Ratonhnhaké:ton! Ziio!" He cried. He might have searched through the entire crumbling village if not for the same deep-rooted feeling, that sense of dread that pulled him back to the longhouse. That too was ablaze, beginning to collapse. But inside he could hear Ratonhnhaké:ton's voice crying for his mother. Ziio, who as he approached, he realized was trapped beneath a pillar. "Ziio!" He exclaimed, sprinting to help his boy try to push the pillar away. He knew before he reached it that it would not budge. And it wouldn't.

"Enough!" Ziio told them harshly. "There is no time, you must go." She looked to Ratonhnhaké:ton first, who shook his head, then to Haytham, as if to beg him to be reasonable. Still, he tried, and it was not until their eyes met that he understood. "Keep our son safe." She told him. "And live. Do not stop living. For my sake and for his." Ratonhnhaké:ton had sunk to his knees then, sobbing uselessly. Ziio passed something to him, and looked hard at Haytham again. "I love you."

"I love you too." He replied, numbly.

"Now go!"

The structure then began to crumble, and without thinking he had thrown his cloak over Ratonhnhaké:ton protectively and pulled him back, running, this time away. Ratonhnhaké:ton's scream was enough to tell him what had happened. That she was gone.

There was no time to feel any pain for her. The village was burning around them and Ratonhnhaké:ton sobbing in his arms. Haytham could not even muster the breath to try to console him as he ran, leaping over fallen structures, burning corpses and running past the hell that had once been their home. He climbed over the collapsed scaffolding that had once been the walls of the village, tumbled a little on the way down with Ratonhnhaké:ton held protectively in his arms, and continued, his lungs burning as he ran, putting a fair distance between him and the fire before finally stopping atop of the hill. He set Ratonhnhaké:ton down at the base of a tree and squatted. "Shh… Ratonhnhaké:ton, it's okay. It's okay. Dry your eyes." As he spoke, he ran his fingers soothingly through the child's hair. "All will be alright." He removed his cloak and draped it over Ratonhnhaké:ton, who looked up at him, and sobbed.

"Daddy.." He croaked, voice hoarse from the harsh smoke. It nearly broke his heart.

"Shush." Haytham hushed him with a finger to his lips, and leaned in to kiss his forehead. "Worry not, my Rascal. I will see you safe, and your mother." He rose then, still meeting Ratonhnhaké:ton's eye. "Wait here. I will return shortly. You are my little Rascal and I will not leave you." Promised Haytham. As Ratonhnhaké:ton cried out for him, he did not turn back.

Ratonhnhaké:ton could only watch as his father's back disappeared into the flames.

By the time he reached the village again, most of it had fallen, what wood remained cracking with the heat or pressure, unable to materialize much longer. A child cried somewhere, but he ignored it, he ignored even when a man who had been something of a friend to him called his name. It was not them he cared for now, it was Ziio. And he found where the building had collapsed atop of her quickly and began throwing it apart, struggling with the heavier timber but still continuing, continuing even as he inhaled the thick air and coughed violently.

While there was still a chance that she might be alive, he could not give up. He tore the structure apart until he reached Ziio, until he could take her hand in his. "Ziio! Ziio, can you hear me?" his words were desperate, even to his own ears, but there was the chance she might have survived.

"H..Haytham?" Came the woman's voice, and an enormous weight was lifted off his chest, only to be replaced when he realized that it had lost its usual spirit. She was weak; very weak. She needed only to speak for him to know. "You came back."

"Of course." Replied Haytham as he threw the remaining debris off of the woman and began to tug her away from behind. She slipped from the pillar with ease, perhaps because it was burned now from either side and crumbling. The sight of Ziio when she was freed was horrifying. There she was, face dirtied with soot, burns over her legs and a pole impaling her. Only from looking he knew that without it she would be dead. Without it, she would bleed out in an instant. It was the only thing keeping her intact and his heart sank. What would he tell young Ratonhnhaké:ton? He could not give up. He need only get the woman to safety and they would find a way. Ziio was strong. If she could not survive it then nobody could.

Her arm around his neck and his around her shoulders, he lifted her to her feet. She limped, and he supported most of her weight. "Haytham, stop." She told him. He ignored her and continued, determined to get out of the village, knowing, hoping, not quite daring to hope that she would survive. "I am not to survive."

"Don't speak to me like that. You will survive. You are too strong not to survive."

"Haytham… I have lived long-"

"Not long enough!"

The woman looked at him and her eyes were filled with sadness. "Haytham, you must listen to me… I have lived long and have no regrets in passing from this world. I will not get to see our son grow, but you must go. Protect our son and assure he lives well. For me.." She coughed and blood spilled from her lips. Wearily, he eyes travelled downwards to her belly. Was it always so big? " For our unborn…" Then her eyes flicked back to his again. "You two must live twice as long, twice as strong…" Her life was slipping from her now, just as they escaped the burning wreckage. "For us… please, protect him. Live, be happy and never forget how to love." With those words came her last breath, drawn from her with a struggled gulp, the sound of blood being purged from her lips. The strength drained from her at last, and she fell, dead weight in his arms. For how tired he was, he lowered her gently, holding her gaze as if to search for life. There was none.

"Ziio… please… no." But if there was anything he wanted to say to his love, it would go unheard. She was gone and with her their unborn child. It was only he and Ratonhnhaké:ton left now.

He had not the time to grieve, to even kiss her cheek as he wanted to, to touch her belly or say goodbye, for on the horizon there was a sea of red forming and there was a triumphant cry. "We sure showed those savages." Bragged a voice that carried across the range between them, past the trees and down the hill.

It was not hurt, but rage that filled him. There they stood, a small squadron of men dressed in their reds looking pleased, smiling, mocking the burning wreck beneath him; celebrating the death about them, the death of his wife and unborn child. And they were near Ratonhnhaké:ton, who remained huddled beneath his cloak.

He rose and charged toward them and he was on them before any of them could fully comprehend what was happening. The first fell, falling from his own sword that had been plunged deep inside him. Since meeting Ziio, he had been forced to give up most of his weapons, all but for hunting, when time allowed. But he found that his skills had not left him, and they did not fail him now as he ran through another man, turned to meet another and drove his blade through their neck. By the time the third man had fallen the squadron was alerted and Haytham continued, desperate to reach Ratonhnhaké:ton, Ratonhnhaké:ton who rustled beneath the cloak. "Do not look!" He called to Ratonhnhaké:ton, who froze, seemed to understand and remained beneath the cloak. His outburst, however, had caused the men to notice the boy, and they approached.

Haytham had never run so fast in his life, driving the sword he had stolen through anyone who dared approach, ignoring when his arm was struck and continuing to fight even as his arm was bleeding heavily. All but three had fallen by the time he reached Ratonhnhaké:ton, and he shouldered his way past one, caught him between the shoulder blades as he stumbled and turned to block Ratonhnhaké:ton off just in time to be disarmed by one of the two men, the one who looked to be the leader.

Then there was simply no more energy to be given. His shoulders heaved with each breath, still frantic from the smoke, his arm still bled so that he began to feel dizzy and he had no weapons within reach. He was running out of options and had less so as reinforcements arrived. "Thought you might live among them savages, did you?" Spoke the captain, sneering at him as he tiredly dropped to his knees, arms extended only to protect his son. "Thought you could betray the king and still be allowed to live?" He scoffed, drew his pistol and drawled on. "Your treachery ends here. Any last requests, traitor?"

Resigned to his fate, Haytham looked the man in the eye. "Spare the boy."

Smirking, the captain raised the pistol to his forehead, leveling it between his eyes. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

As his finger hovered over the trigger, Haytham fought to come up with a countermeasure, but there was none; nothing that did not result in eventual death for both he and his son. He closed his eyes, prepared, but instead of gunfire there was a strangled sound. When he opened his eyes next, the man was on his knees and above him stood Thomas, uncharacteristically stern as he pulled his blade from the man's throat and shook the blood from it. Beside him, the two soldiers were shocked. He and Thomas ignored them, however, staring at one another for what felt like a long time.

"Thomas.."

Thomas nodded, and the smug smirk he recognized returned to his lips. "Oi, 'Ayfom, y'aven't lost yer bite, 'ave ye?" Mocked the youth as he plucked a sword from the ground and tossed it to Haytham, who, despite being unprepared, caught it.

Still dumbfounded, Haytham shook his head and forced himself to stand. "But why- I left, I betrayed all of you. Why would y-"

"'Cause I felt like it." Replied Hickey, as if it was simple as that. "You've gone done too much fer me. Couldn't go an' leave ye." And as he struck down a redcoat with surprising efficiency, he looked over his shoulder. "Oi, Johnson, Pitcunt, you just gonna stand 'ere?"

The two men, standing beneath the trees exchanged glances, not sure what they should do, and equally unsure of their loyalties and priorities and then William stepped forward. John followed, still unsure and each half looked like they might attack him instead, but turned on the redcoats and each felled two. Church, who he noticed not far from them, though no fighter, nodded to show his support. It was Charles he noticed last, staring vehemently at him, still bitter, no doubt, from the way he had left. But with four now, the redcoats hardly stood a chance. They made it difficult, sure, but they began to fall one by one and the last ran towards Charles, perhaps to appeal to him or perhaps to find reinforcements. For an instant, Haytham thought Charles might help him. Then he drew his pistol, and in a fluid movement had blown a hole between his eyes.

Haytham realized, only then that he had hardly moved an inch. The sword was still in his hand, and he was clutching it so that his knuckles were almost white. He was still standing over Ratonhnhaké:ton, having only cut down those who came near and then Charles approached, slowly with practiced care, as if he were approaching a cornered animal. And he was unable to read the man's intentions. Perhaps he was cornered. It would certainly be foolish, on his part, to deny it. But he thought, most certainly, that Charles intended to have his head for himself. Since the redcoats had not been allowed it, he would simply take Haytham's life for himself.

Just before him, however, Charles stopped, sheathed his weapon and pulled something else from his sleeve instead. A handkerchief. "Sir," Began Charles, and Haytham knew then that he was in no danger, that the man had forgiven him as the others had. Still, he remained as he was and Lee wiped his face. When he removed it, the cloth was wet. "It will not do for others to see you in this state." He said simply and Haytham realized then that he had been crying. For how long, he did not know. Perhaps for as long as his son had been and he felt the strength sapped from him.

"Thank you," He told the men, his friends, no less and turned toward his son, falling to his knees before the heap of cloak. Inside, Ratonhnhaké:ton was still sobbing, very softly, trying to keep quiet as if not wanting to disturb anything. "It's okay." He whispered. "You're safe. I would never let anyone hurt you, my little Rascal."

And as he embraced his son, he realized how he must have looked with his face covered in soot, and smeared with blood and tears. How pathetic he must have seemed and how obvious it must have been that he had lost something so dear and how he must have looked very much like a father. The father to his child.


End file.
